


Surpassing All the Stars

by KannaOphelia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - All Media Types, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Ancient Greece, Angst, Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Beauty and the Beast Elements, Cursed by the gods, F/F, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Gratuitous use of Sappho's poetry, I promise a happy ending, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Lesbian immortal wives in Ancient Greece, Little Mermaid Elements, Longing and unable to touch, Making love with touching, Mutual Pining, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Cuddles, There is sadness but love will win the day, True Love's Kiss, When you are a goddess you don't have to give reasons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25032085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/pseuds/KannaOphelia
Summary: There was a faint tracing of scales along the woman's cheekbones, tracing down her thin arms and lean thighs. The nipples on her pale, almost flat breasts were dark as night. Fiery red curls fell over dagger-sharp shoulders sprayed gently with more black scales, and the golden eyes were wide and snake-like. The woman was beautiful, but hardly human."Crawly," the woman said with disgust. "Was that the best you could do, angel?""I said I didn't have much imagination." Aziraphale's lips were heavy, and she was almost sure she wasn't forming the words properly. There was some kind of spell over her, holding her almost immobile. The venom must have been paralytic. If she had been human, she supposed she would have been dead. Her corporation didn't like it much either. "What name would you prefer I use for you?"The stranger tipped her head on one side, considering. "Crowley?"Aziraphale almost laughed. The whole situation was simply too irritating. If she was to die now, at the hands of some local deity, the paperwork hardly bore thinking about. And her precious work on Sappho's poetry, gone."Crowley, then. You're a nymph of some kind, I take it?"
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 106
Kudos: 244
Collections: Ineffable Wives fic by KannaOphelia, Poker in a Pitch Dark Room: Multichapter Ineffable Husbands fic by KannaOphelia





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ale_psiconautis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ale_psiconautis/gifts).



> For my beloved friend Ale, in some small thanks for your precious friendship and understanding. And the latest birthday gift ever. This, my 100th fic on AO3, is for you.

> because
> 
> I prayed this word:
> 
> I want

Sappho was the first to spot the huge black serpent, coiled among heat-baked rocks, a lurking shadow in the strange purple-brown-grey of the petrified forest. Erinna shrieked and clung to her, pretending to hide behind Sappho's tiny form and letting her fingers slip flirtatiously down her smooth upper arms. Humans. Aziraphale indulgently clucked her tongue, ignoring the stab of loneliness.

The serpent was huge, at least five cubits long and thicker than Aziraphale's arm, black as night, its scarlet belly a warning sign of venom.

"I'll save you, ladies," said Alcaeus, picking up a rock and moving menacingly towards the creature. It hissed in warning but seemed barely able to lift its magnificent head, let alone slide away. Poison-yellow eyes glared at them as if daring them to come closer. As if it understood the situation.

Aziraphale felt a deep conviction that destroying a monster like that would be more like slaying a person than an animal.

"Hush, dear boy, it's of no danger to us," she said. And of course, it wasn't. Not to an angel and the humans under her protection. Aziraphale moved forward carefully, extending a plump hand. Its tongue flickered out lightly "Look, it's so weak, poor thing."

"Maybe it will eat Eri to regain its energy," Sappho said cruelly, and Erinna buried her head on her shoulder with a squeal of mock terror. "Hush, my love, I will let no one eat you but me." Eri squealed again, with giggles this time, and Aziraphale rolled her eyes.

Alcaeus came to join the angel "It might be kinder after all it put it out of its misery, poor fellow," he said quietly. "Wonderful brute, though. I've never seen one so huge. If you would like to distract the girls, I will deal with it."

"Nonsense," Aziraphale said briskly. She could tell, closer up, that the serpent's back was crushed, probably by the fallen stone tree beside it, and it was half-starved. Poor, exquisite creature. It looked at her with baleful golden eyes, and she smiled at it. "Oh, good. No injuries at all."

She moved her fingers gently, letting the magic out, and the creature reared up and hissed with pain, startling her. Erinna cried out with genuine fear, and Aziraphale looked curiously at her fingers. A simple healing miracle should not have harmed the snake.

Alcaeus, ever the chivalrous youth, raised the rock again to protect her. Aziraphale placed a hand on his wrist to restrain him. "It's all right now." She held out her hand again. "I won't hurt you again, my friend," she said gently. "Come with me, and I'll feed you."

The serpent stared at her with something chillingly like human intelligence in its eyes. Then it slithered forward, Alcaeus standing guard, and slid up her, winding its heavy body along her waist, falling in coils over her shoulders and waist, head waving gently.

"I've never seen anything like your way with animals, Aziraphale." Sappho shook back her clouds of violet-black hair, dark eyes wide with wonder, and Aziraphale remembered the Ark, the bitter satisfaction of keeping the animals safe while the humans drowned. The last Aziraphale had seen, as the door closed, had hair as dark as that of Sappho. "I shall compose a poem in your honour. Our sweet lady Aziraphale, whose moonlit beauty charms even dangerous monsters."

"Save your poems for pretty youths like Erinna and Alcaeus," Aziraphale scolded her, "not for a fat motherly woman like me."

The serpent hissed in her ear, and it sounded vaguely reproachful. Sappho's laughter rang out, sweet and bell-like'. "I need not reprove you for describing yourself that way, not with your new friend to do so."

 _Friend._ It felt warm in Aziraphale's ears. All the young people in Sappho's household and they were _all_ young, no matter how humans regarded their age, were friendly.

"What will you do with your pet, Old Fat Mother Aziraphale?" Erinna asked teasingly.

"Bring it back to the camp and feed it, for now," Aziraphale said. After all, the easiest way to comfort was with food. It always worked with her.

* * *

The serpent looked thoughtfully—although that had to be an illusion—at the food laid out before it, tidbits of meat and eggs and cheese. Eventually, it selected an egg, stretched its mouth open, and swallowed it whole. Then it curled up on the cushion Aziraphale had provided on the wagon.

"That's right, darling," Aziraphale said, feeling as if she had achieved something special. "You rest up and get better. And no biting," she added sternly. "I really could not cope with the paperwork and the scolding. _Now, old girl, I know you do your best, but you know you are supposed to be guiding humanity to virtue, not making pets of dangerous animals. Pay a little more attention next time, eh? Heaven expects!_ "

The serpent hissed, as if annoyed, and Aziraphale resisted the urge to pet it. "I know, I know. You are a free wild creature, not a pet. But you can't expect Gabriel to see it that way. Now, let me get on with my work."

Aziraphale chattered a little to the serpent as she sat and dipped her reed into ink, scratching the words onto papyrus. "This is writing. Humans invented it to record words, clever things that they are. That's what I'm here for. Sappho thinks her songs are passing things, to be sung and forgotten, but I can't bear such perfection to be lost to the world. I'm determined to memorise and record them, to help humanity better itself."

Word, dip, word. She was tempted to use her powers to make the reed hold more than a word at the time, but there was no sense drawing attention by making trivial miracles, not when it was hard enough to justify healing a snake if it was raised.

"Why _did_ I heal you?" she asked the snake, as she worked. "After all, I consume animals every day. I don't save them all. Perhaps I am lonely, after all. But surely a monkey or a dog would make a better pet. You'll excuse me for mentioning it, but snakes are not known for being particularly affectionate."

The snake watched her with large yellow eyes, tongue flickering gently in and out of its mouth. Aziraphale sighed. "Feel free to stay with me as long as you like. Get yourself strong. I will enjoy the company."

The snake curled up and, eyes wide open, went to sleep.

Aziraphale worked until the light faded. It was a long trip back to Mytilene, but Sappho had been insistent on showing off the forest, a wonder of Lesbos, to her distinguished guest. Sappho was a dear lady, and her household full of merriment and arts, but...

Well. There was no real way an angel was going to fit in. Silly to feel wistful about it, really. Aziraphale had been alone since leaving Heaven and being stationed in Eden, and she was proud to represent Heaven on Earth, guide these children to follow Heaven's will. It was an honour and a privilege.

It would be nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who understood. Someone who would be more than a fleeting moment.

Aziraphale shook herself. Self-pity and melancholy got her nowhere, and she had work to do.

The serpent slept, and its presence was oddly comforting.

* * *

Somehow, the serpent came back with them on the two-wheeled wagons. Aziraphale had a half memory that you shouldn't remove animals from their own areas, but she could hardly stay in the stone forest forever herself, and after all, she was an angel. She could miracle the snake back any time she liked.

Meanwhile, it lived in her rooms in Sappho's mansion.

Aziraphale fell into the habit of talking to her snake whenever she was alone in the room with it, chattering idly about Sappho's love affairs, about the performances of Sappho's lyric poetry the girls' chorus was rehearsing, about the history and literature lessons she was giving Sappho's daughter Kleis. She was aware she talked about Sappho quite a lot, but the poet had the ability to make everything draw in around her, like a lodestone. Sometimes Aziraphale read the poetry she was transcribing to the creature and had the odd idea that it was listening, its gaze alert, tongue ever tasting the air.

Her new friend seemed disinclined to leave. It ate some of the offerings she brought it, but only sparingly. It curled on its pile of cushions, or in the window, sunning itself. Aziraphale left easy egress in case it wanted to leave, and found herself breathing a sigh of relief when it was there each time she returned to her rooms. Something about the serpent suggested home to her.

* * *

One sweet summer night, Aziraphale lay on her couch, reading aloud to her strange companion the last few words she had transcribed.

> "Stand up and look at me, face to face
> 
> My friend,
> 
> Unloose the beauty of your eyes..."

Aziraphale trailed off, feeling oddly sad. "A friend, to stand face to face with. Sometimes I feel like Sappho looks into all our hearts, and finds what is missing, the fragments of us, and names them into being. At times I wish she was not so good at it. I never felt the lack of a true friend so much until I came here, where there is human love going spare."

The huge snake moved across the floor like water, rushed up Aziraphale's side, and draped itself around her in weighty coils, head bumping against Aziraphale's face. Aziraphale sat very very still under the weight until the snake settled, then dared reach out and stroke its nose with two fingers. The snake flickered out a forked tongue and tasted the skin of her cheek.

"You dear, dear creature," Aziraphale said. "I should give you a name, if we are to be friends." She thought for a while. "What about Crawly?" The snake hissed, and she laughed. "I'm afraid I don't have a very good imagination. That's a human talent."

Aziraphale closed her eyes. She didn't need to sleep, but dozing in the evening light, relaxed and full from a good meal, the somehow soothing weight wrapped around her, she felt contented and drowsy. The sounds of merrymaking from the courtyards and gardens came to her, but she had no desire to join them. For once she felt content, her loneliness ebbing.

When the snake pulled back its head and struck, Aziraphale didn't have time to react before the pain was burning on her neck, and the venom entered her veins.

* * *

When Aziraphale came to, a woman was sitting naked and cross-legged on the end of her couch.

This was not entirely something unexpected in Sappho's household. Sappho was a devotee to the cult of Eros and Aphrodite, and for all Aziraphale officially disapproved of them worshipping fallen angels, she had to admit that the household seemed to have fun. Even compared to other humans, the lives of the young things who filled the house revolve around love affairs and pleasures, the endearing creatures. Even though Aziraphale fancied her corporation too middle-aged and plump to compete with the apple-breasted young women of the household, there was occasionally a boy or girl who was attracted to someone on the buxom and maternal side, and she had to deal with unwanted advances more than once.

"I'm sorry, dear, I must have passed out," Aziraphale said. She was oddly reluctant to blame her snake. A quick glance around the room showed her it had left already. It was hard to move her aching head.

She was preparing to give her usual kindly speech about being dedicated to Diana and chastity when she noticed the faint tracing of scales along the woman's cheekbones, tracing down her thin arms and lean thighs. The nipples on her pale, almost flat breasts were dark as night. Fiery red curls fell over dagger-sharp shoulders sprayed gently with more black scales, and the golden eyes were wide and snake-like. The woman was beautiful, but hardly human.

" _Crawly_ ," the woman said with disgust. "Was that the best you could do, angel?"

"I said I didn't have much imagination." Aziraphale's lips were heavy, and she was almost sure she wasn't forming the words. There was some kind of spell over her, holding her almost immobile. The venom must have been paralytic. If she had been human, she supposed she would have been dead. Her corporation didn't like it much either. "What name would you prefer I use for you?"

The stranger tipped her head on one side, considering. "Crowley?"

Aziraphale almost laughed. The whole situation was simply too irritating. If she was to die now, at the hands of some local deity, the paperwork hardly bore thinking about. And her precious work on Sappho's poetry, gone.

"Crowley, then. You're a nymph of some kind, I take it?" Crowley didn't look anything like the other nymphs Aziraphale had encountered, who tended towards curves and youthfulness, but it seemed the most likely conclusion. When she thought about it, the nudity was quite nymphlike.

The woman nodded, looking almost embarrassed. "Yeah. Dryad. From the forest you found me in."

"Why did you pose as a snake?"

"Was pursued by bloody Pan, prayed to Aphrodite for help and, get this, she _petrified my forest_ and stuck me in snake form. How the heaven was that supposed to be better?"

"My sympathies. You seem to have corrected the problem now, anyway."

"Temporarily." The nymph—Crowley—stretched. "Don't think I can hold it much longer. But I wanted to, nggh. Say thank you." She was blushing, which made her look distinctly younger. "For the healing and snacks. And, you know. Talking. And, ahm ah, the poetry. S'nice, the poetry. Humans used to come and sing me songs, but not since the forest turned to stone."

"You're very welcome," Aziraphale said. She wondered just how long the dryad had been trapped in her petrified forest. "Is poisoning someone your usual way of showing gratitude?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. Um. It will only last a while. Couldn't risk you smiting me."

"I wouldn't smite you," Aziraphale said with certainty. She wasn't even sure where the certainty came from. But the dryad was watching her with wide golden eyes, the eyes of her snake, and hurting her seemed impossible.

"Yeah?" Crowley seemed a little surprised, but she nodded sharply, as if confirming a suspicion. "Yeah, you wouldn't."

"I suppose you'll be off, now you've thanked me," Aziraphale said. There was a painful twitch under her breastbone at the thought. How long had it been since she'd spoken to another immortal, except to turn in a report? This creature had presumably been an angel once. She might almost understand what it was like.

"Oh, I don't know about that. Long slither home. Cold at night." Crowley looked away, the tops of her thin cheekbones flushing as red as her hair. "Besides, I wanted to learn how that poem turned out."

Aziraphale smiled, prickly warmth flooding over her. "Try not to bite me again, and I'll try not to smite you."

Crowley grinned back, with real pleasure. Sharp eye teeth glinted in her mouth ."It's a bargain." She leaned forward, holding out a long-fingered hand, and Aziraphale sat up slightly to grasp it.

" _Aaaaargh_. Holy fuck!" Crowley jerked back her hand and stared at it. Little blisters were forming on her palm and fingers. "That doesn't happen when I'm a serpent. Do you have your holiness turned up particularly high tonight?"

"No more than usual. I _am_ sorry, my dear."

"Hhghngh," said Crowley, just as her form slid into itself and became a snake again.

* * *

Aziraphale expected Crowley to flee after that, but she curled up again on her pillows. Aziraphale inspected her, but could find no signs of burning on her serpent skin.

"Lesson learned. No touching in nymph form." Aziraphale dragged two fingers affectionately down the gleaming black scales, and jerked back her hand when she realised what she had done. This was no pet, this was a sapient being as ancient as herself, a former angel, and she should not touch without permission. "I'm sorry, Crowley. Am I being too familiar?"

In answer, the snake poured up onto her lap and settled there. Aziraphale found herself smiling as she ran her fingers down the soothing texture of the cool scales.

* * *

> I have a daughter, golden,
> 
> Beautiful, like a flower -
> 
> Kleis, my love -
> 
> And I would not exchange her for
> 
> All the riches of Lydia

The next morning, Aziraphale was heading off to give Kleis her lessons, bidding a pleasant farewell to Crowley, when she hesitated.

"Crowley, are you awake? It's rather hard to tell with the way you sleep with your eyes closed."

Crowley lifted her great head, swaying slightly.

"I wondered if you would like to accompany me. It must be dull here. I'm teaching Kleis out in the courtyard. The sun is very pleasant, and we're up to such an interesting part in the _Telegony._ Not particularly historically accurate, and Odysseus listened to your kindred's advice far too much, but we must make allowances for humans."

For a moment Aziraphale thought she had overstepped, but Crowley unfurled herself and slid up Aziraphale, settling in great heavy coils around her shoulders. Aziraphale smiled despite herself.

Kleis was delighted by the company, and Crowley was surprisingly docile, letting the child touch her. She resisted all attempts from Kleis to lure her from Aziraphale, and remained possessively wrapped around Aziraphale's shoulders.

Possessively. That was an odd, errant thought. Crowley was probably only clinging to Aziraphale out of wariness, given how quick humans were with rocks.

After the lesson, Sappho came by, on Alcaeus' arm this time. "Oh, so you kept your scaly friend!" she said, smiling down at Aziraphale. "How beautiful the two of you are together. You are not escaping that hymn."

Kleis scrambled up and embraced her. "She has a name, Mama, she's called Crowley, and she lets me pet her. She likes me."

"Of course she does. She is clearly a snake of good sense. Look how she dotes on our lovely Aziraphale." Sappho reached out a delicate hand to stroke Crowley, and the snake's head shot forward, in a warning strike. Sappho's hand jolted back.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale cried. "That is no way to behave towards our hostess. Apologise at once, or I won't bring you out of our room again."

There was a long, tense moment, then the great snake bobbed her head to Sappho, managing to ooze disdain and resentment as she did so.

Sappho laughed, a little shakily. "It's like she understands every word you say."

"It is rather, isn't it?" Aziraphale tried to glare at Crowley, but the snake was nudging affectionately against her cheek, and it was hard to remain cross. "So she understand she has to mind her manners," she said, as sternly as she could manage, but couldn't hold back a smile. She even relented enough to take Crowley to dinner and fed her tidbits from her own plate, while the company marvelled at the monster. Crowley hissed at anyone who ventured close, and stayed wound around the angel.

Aziraphale was not surprised when Crowley assembled herself into nymph form again that night.

"I don't like that poet woman."

"Nonsense. She's very kind and brilliant."

"Pretty, too, I suppose," sneered Crowley.

 _So are you_ , thought Aziraphale, but she didn't say it aloud. In truth, there was nothing as soft as prettiness about the dryad of the petrified forest. She was all hard angles and shining scales and fiery hair. There was a sharp beauty to her that was nothing like prettiness. "Sappho is a very good looking and charming woman," Aziraphale said instead.

"Huh. Look out for her. Can't trust Aphrodite worshippers. Look at me."

"Did you worship Aphrodite?" Aziraphale asked, curiously. She'd known Aphrodite a little in Heaven before the Fall, and she was difficult to reconcile with this odd, spiky creature. Aphrodite had been a silly girl if such could be said of an angel.

"Me? Nah. Worship isn't my thing." Crowley looked as if a thought had struck her. "Probably how I ended up in this mess to start with."

"Probably," Aziraphale said drily. Crowley grinned at her, all teeth.

"You seemed to like Kleis, though."

"Mm-hmm. Kids are okay. Used to bring me flowers as a tribute and play in the trees, before they turned to stone. Sort of miss them."

"You're welcome at Kleis' lessons at any time," Aziraphale said. Crowley grinned at her again, less fiercely this time, and melted back into serpent form.

Aziraphale settled on the couch and began to read aloud, and the snake slithered up and rested against her side. Aziraphale let her hand drift up and down the snake's long body as she read, and felt less lonely than she had in a very long time.

* * *

> Come to me now, then, free me
> 
> From aching care, and win me
> 
> All my heart longs to win.
> 
> You,
> 
> Be my friend.


	2. Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Love shook my heart  
> Like the wind on the mountain  
> rushing over the oak trees"

> Yet I am not one who takes joy in wounding,
> 
> Mine is a quiet mind.

Aziraphale's days fell into a new pattern. She read and worked outside more often, knowing Crowley liked to bake in the sun. Crowley began to soften enough to sometimes put a head on Kleis' lap and allow herself to be stroked, although she would remain curled up on Aziraphale's lap as if afraid to be far from her while out with the humans. And whenever Crowley could summon enough hoarded magic, she would sit on Aziraphale's couch, not quite touching, to argue and chatter for few brief, precious moments.

Precious. Aziraphale knew their moments were precious. A few minutes with the dryad by her side, that sharp vivid face expressive as she gave her opinion on the day, were something Aziraphale looked forward to. She knew she shouldn't. Crowley was fallen, part of the pantheon of ex-angels, however minor. Aziraphale should oppose her. 

"Sappho, for fuck's sake. What an ego. Everyone in this place revolves around her as if she was some kind of goddess." Crowley hunched over, her eyes bright and baleful as she hugged her bony knees.

"Perhaps they think she will be," Aziraphale said mildly. "Some of the people here believe that if you are known throughout the land and ages, they ascend and become deities."

"Ridiculous. You and I know what immortals are. Angelic stock all, just some of us cast out, while the rest of you stay in Her service. You can't make _new_ ones."

"Nothing is beyond Her power," Aziraphale said primly.

Crowley thrust an impatient hand through her red curls. She was always in motion, in snake or dryad form, as if nervous energy was shivering through her. Even curled around Aziraphale in serpent form, her tongue would flicker, her coils slide where they were draped around Aziraphale, never still. It meant that Aziraphale had learned when Crowley slept. Her eyes would be wide open, but that restless energy would at least be stilled. Aziraphale caught herself wondering what Crowley would look like asleep in this shape, if the tense lines of her back would soften if stroked.

What kind of thought was that? She couldn't even touch the dryad unless Crowley was protected by scales.

"That might be, but She's not bothered, is she? Sappho just writes her lyrics. Some of them are pretty good, I'll admit," Crowley added grudgingly. "But she's not going to attain immortality by shagging cute girls and boys and writing songs about it."

"Perhaps I can help her attain immortality with her poetry," Aziraphale said dreamily, and then, meeting Crowley's mockingly raised eyebrow, hastily added, "and of course as a good woman she will attain eternal life in the hereafter as well."

Crowley snorted, and Aziraphale reminded herself that Crowley, as a fallen angel, was The Enemy. Nymphs were notorious for trying to draw humans into sin and away from Her. But looking at that lean, naked figure, golden eyes glowing as her words stumbled over themselves in an attempt to complain and carp about everyone Aziraphale had spoken to, her long hand a hairsbreadth away from where Aziraphale's was lying on the cushion, it was hard to think of her as an enemy.

_I wish I could hold her hand._ It was just an errant thought, but Crowley's fingers twitched as if she had sensed it, and wanted to intertwine their grips.

Even harder to remember this was the Enemy when Crowley, in snake form, wound about her or nudged her fingers for a pat. Snakes, Aziraphale knew, did not court affection, but dryads were apparently different. Aziraphale's mind chimed the same worries and warnings, over and over again. Fallen. Enemy. She should smite Crowley. _Her friend_. 

Aziraphale wasn't created to be a vengeful smiter like Sandalphon, a warrior like Michael, a dispassionate judge like Uriel. She was a Principality, her hand made to guide and support rather than punish. She had been made for the humans, but surely, she reasoned, they were all the Almighty's children, even soulless creatures like Crowley. She left Crowley out of her reports, and found herself wondering if there wasn't some way to help her. _Then she could always be by my side as a friend,_ Aziraphale's treacherous mind whispered. She pushed the thought firmly down. If Crowley regained her powers as a dryad, she would return to her petrified grove, and Aziraphale would lose her company. For the best, really. It would be selfish to wish anything else.

The chorus was rehearsing Sappho's newest lyric composition at dinner on the night of the full moon. Crowley always seemed particularly keen to accompany Aziraphale when she ate, for some reason, even though she rarely ate much herself. Snakes didn't, she had assured Aziraphale. They had big meals on occasion but didn't need regular feeding. "It's enough to see you enjoy your food, angel," she had said, and then for some reason had turned bright red, changed forms and slid under the couch. She didn't come out for a while.

That night, Aziraphale forgot her food, despite the delectably tender squid and the ripe figs dripping with juice. The choir lamented sweetly, and she wondered why she had ever thought of coldly perfect Heavenly music praising the Almighty as beautiful. These flawed human voices, singing of human emotion in Sappho's words, had a truth that Aziraphale had never experienced in her own choir.

> He is dying, Cytherea, your tender Adonis,
> 
> What should we do?
> 
> Beat your breasts, girls, tear your tunics

Aziraphale could feel tears sliding down her face, aching for the humans, for their loss of friends, for all the humans who had passed into her life and moved on into Heaven or, unfortunately, Hell. Their butterfly lives, their clever minds and turbulent hearts, all passing on, and she went on and on in the world.

A soft forked tongue flickered on her cheeks, gathering the tears. Was Crowley tasting them, or caressing her? Aziraphale blinked in confusion, and the snake looked back with great golden, lidless eyes.

"Your tears are the greatest tribute I could have, Aziraphale," Sappho said softly. Then she shook her head and laughed. "If not your untouched food."

"I'm afraid my food is not left untouched very often." Aziraphale patted her rounded belly with a rueful laugh.

"It suits you, to show your pleasure in life through the richness of your body. Your figure is very attractive and cuddlesome. Crowley certainly seems to think so."

"I do enjoy this world," Aziraphale said contentedly. Sappho laughed and passed on to her other fans.

It was two more nights until Crowley had stored enough magic to change form again, and when she did, she was unusually quiet. Aziraphale went on with her work. If Crowley wanted to waste her powers on brooding silently, that was her choice.

"You like that poet human, don't you?" There was a challenge in her voice when she spoke at last.

"Her name is Sappho. And she is a dear girl and a true genius."

"She'll be dead of old age in forty years."

"That's the way of mortals. It's unkind to point it out."

"I don't trust her," Crowley announced, and when Aziraphale looked back at her, the red-black serpent was burrowed under her cushions. She didn't emerge the next day, not even to accompany Aziraphale to breakfast, until Aziraphale was ready to go to Kleis.

Aziraphale turned to the cushions and asked, "Are you finished sulking? Kleis will miss you. She says she studies better when you study with her."

Aziraphale was about to give up and leave alone, feeling oddly put out, when Crowley slithered from her nest and took her place wrapped around the angel. Aziraphale took it that she was forgiven for the crime of having human friends. She felt absurdly happy about it. 

"Your pet must be very heavy," Sappho as they walked in the sunshine together after Kleis' lessons.

"She's not my pet, but I suppose she is rather a weight." Crowley was wrapped around Aziraphale, giant serpent head resting on Aziraphale's curls, her favourite method of conveyance. Aziraphale felt she should suggest that Crowley move around on her own, as a matter of principle. Somehow, she never quite got around to telling her that. Besides, plenty of the mansion's residents were more than a little frightened by the monstrous creature. Only Kleis was permitted to make a pet of her. "I'm stronger than I look."

"You look strong," Sappho said. "Like a warrior of your Artemis."

Aziraphale blushed a little, out of guilt. She supposed that technically, as a messenger of the Almighty, she should not have declared allegiance to a fallen angel when she first came to Greece. It just made matters simpler when it came to matters of chastity or, rather, not taking advantage of mortals. Not that she was ever tempted. Besides, as a messenger of the Almighty, she probably should not have made a constant companion of a different fallen angel. Even if the fallen angel was mostly a snake.

"You're so pretty when you blush," Sappho said, stepping closer. Her head, barely coming past Aziraphale's shoulder, was cocked to one side, her extraordinary grape-black hair floating in a marjoram-scented cloud around her finely featured face.

"My dear, I am not pretty at all, not compared to the human flowers that grow around you. Where is Erinna?"

"Off kissing and courting with Metis, I'm afraid. For all the appeal of mentors, when youth have learned their lessons in poetry and love, they are drawn to youth in the end." Aziraphale eyed Sappho, but the poet didn't seem particularly heartbroken, even though Aziraphale could remember a recent time when Sappho was so taken with Erinna that she had been nothing but blushes and stammering in her presence. Humans. "It is the way of Aphrodite and Eros. Speaking of which, my beloved friend, will you accompany me to the goddess's shrine outside the town, to make my sacrifices?"

Crowley shifted, coils rippling, and hissed. Aziraphale stroked her with two fingers, somewhat absent-mindedly. She had been thinking of going to Aphrodite's shrine herself, although it was difficult to come up with an excuse Gabriel would accept if he noticed. And it was important to go without Crowley if she intended to plead for mercy on the dryad's behalf. Accompanying her human charge would work as an excuse.

"You'd better stay behind, "Aziraphale told Crowley. "You're not precisely on good terms with Aphrodite." Crowley hissed again, and her coils tightened. "Now, my dear, don't be like that. I'll be home soon." Reluctantly, Crowley loosened her grasp and slid off towards Aziraphale's rooms. 

"She truly is not just a snake, then?" Sappho asked curiously. "You talk to her as if she is a person, and you say she is out of favour with Aphrodite?"

"I won't spill Crowley's secrets," Aziraphale said, playfully batting at her shoulder, gambling that Sappho would think it was just another oddity in her odd guest and not ask herself if the snake could converse with her.

"Of course. It is better not to risk the anger of local spirits." Sappho smiled and took her hands. "Your companion is wonderful, but it is difficult to hold your arm or your hand, dear friend, with a snake wrapped around your arms. Come with me, now."

They walked shoulder by shoulder, hand in hand, and Aziraphale caught herself wondering if how different Crowley's long, scaled hand would feel to the poet's aristocratic hand, calloused only by her stylus. For some reason, the thought made Aziraphale shiver.

Nonsense. A holy touch would only harm an infernal creature like Crowley. Aziraphale recalled the dryad's scalded fingers and repressed a stab of melancholy.

> Your lovely apple grove stands,
> 
> and your altars that flicker with incense.
> 
> And below the apple branches, 
> 
> cold clear water sounds,
> 
> everything shadowed by roses, 
> 
> and sleep that falls from bright shaking leaves.

Aziraphale breathed in the heavy perfume of incense and heavier rose scent, the sunny smell of the apples. She tried to remember if it was forbidden to pick and eat the apples here. Probably an insult to Aphrodite. Gods of all kinds were protective of their apple trees. A pity, they looked delicious. 

_Look, Aphrodite,_ she said silently. _I know we are on opposite sides, but I'm talking to you one immortal to another. I have befriended one of your servants, and she needs your mercy. She's not a bad sort, all things considered. I couldn't do anything truly bad in return, naturally, but could you consider lifting her curse and restoring her forest? I could do something in return for you if we could come to some kind of arrangement. For all you are Fallen, erotic love does not seem to me a terrible sin, or you the worst of your kind._

There was no answer, just rippling water and a soft breeze in the grass, and Sappho's movements. Perhaps Aphrodite had deserted her shrine.

"I prayed here, with tears burning on my cheeks, for Erinna to love me again," Sappho said, after she had made her sacrifices. "She had strayed from me to Anaktoria, and I would have given anything for her attention and love again. Aphrodite came to me in a vision, and gave me Eri's heart, made her run after me the way I had been running after her. I was so grateful I wept, and made many sacrifices. Now Erinna's heart has turned to Metis, and I find I don't care. Why love a girl whose light heart turns like a leaf turning in the breeze?"

"Erinna is young and capricious. But I'm not at all sure that asking a goddess to force a girl to love you against her will is a morally acceptable course of action, or indeed sustainable."

"Perhaps you are right." Sappho's face sparkled with laughter. "Well, my fault was in not understanding that my hair will grey soon. I have no wish for a husband, and although my heart sometimes turns to beautiful boys, I do not want to risk another child. I have my dear and clever Kleis, and her birth nearly killed me. I am not ready to give up on life. Still, friend Aziraphale, sometimes I wish for something like a spouse, a true and clever companion who would be my equal and age with me."

"It's natural to want a companion," Aziraphale said absently, thinking of the arch of a dryad's neck as she threw back her head in laughter, the weight of a snake on her lap, the sense of a sharp intelligent presence near her. If Aphrodite listened to her, then she would lose that. But it was for Crowley. She was an independent being, not a pet. An enemy, at that. It was unwise to want to keep her close. "Life can be very lonely."

"It can." Sappho stepped closer, reaching up to cup Aziraphale's jaw. "You always brush me aside when I say how beautiful you are, my plump and pretty Aziraphale. Why is that? Are your vows to Artemis so very sacred that you would give up love forever, though you are no priestess? Aphrodite would protect you against her jealous rival. This island belongs to her and her son."

Aphrodite wondered if she should step away. Sappho was small and fragile and so very young compared to an angel. Human feelings were such delicate things, too easy to crush, and Aziraphale did her best to avoid handling them roughly. 

"My dear," she said firmly, "you are very young. And my body is built for comfort, not pleasure."

Sappho laughed. "Even my most indulgent flatterers would not call me young. And I am not so sure about your body. I am tired of worrying about breaking flower stems. Your arms are so very beautiful, Aziraphale." The hand not holding Aziraphale's chin stroked down over an arm, caressing the skin as if it was the most luscious thing imaginable. "You are strong and tender." She stood up on her toe tips, and then startled back, as a terrible hissing broke out. "

For a moment Aziraphale was terrified the snake would strike, but Crowley just surged up and over her, positioning herself between the two of them, her head waving threateningly, keeping their heads apart.

Sappho's face was white, but her voice was steady. "Your friend is careful of your chastity, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale tried to find an answer, then wrinkled her nose instead. "Crowley," she said, "is a very poorly behaved serpent sometimes. I think perhaps I had better take her home." Crowley made a satisfied kind of little hiss, and Aziraphale repressed the urge to poke her nose crossly, despite her own relief at escaping the awkward conversation.

"I'll stay and pray a little," Sappho said awkwardly. "I would suggest you be careful on the trip through Mytilene, but I suspect you are well guarded."

Aziraphale marched wordlessly back through the town, the snake wrapped around her. Crowley nudged her a few times in what seemed to be a conciliatory way, but Aziraphale was in no mood to talk or pet her. When they were finally back inside her rooms, Aziraphale pointed to the pile of cushions, and Crowley slid off.

"What was that all about?"

Crowley unwound in one awkward movement, her face twisted in an unlovely scowl. "The human was pawing at you. I warned you about her."

"I had it under control. Do you think this is the first time a human has tried to court me? I do not need the interference of a fallen angel! And I do not need to risk being thrown out of this home, or having to protect you if you're seen to be a risk and the humans order you slaughtered. You are practically powerless except for your venom."

"I don't need your help either!"

"Really? Then why do you stay under my protection?"

"Why do you fucking think?"

There was a jab of recognition as if Aziraphale's loneliness was reflected in the dryad's face, transformed into anger. "Because you've been alone a long time," the angel said, her own wrath fading.

"It's not just that! It's—it's—" Crowley strode forward, and Aziraphale tensed herself to resist and attack. She would not lose to a mere dryad, shapechanger or not. She tried to ignore the lurch in her heart at the thought of fighting with Crowley, perhaps injuring her badly.

Crowley raised her hands, and instead of hitting, cradled the sides of Aziraphale's face in her hands. The nymph's angry expression distorted immediately with agony as she brought her face closer.

"Crowley, don't! I can't bear you to hurt yourself." Aziraphale knocked Crowley's hands aside and stepped away. She could see the redness on Crowley's hands, already blistering, and her heart filled with horror.

"Why does everyone get to touch you but me?" It was more a howl of rage and frustration than a hiss. "They can't possibly want to as much as I do. I want—I want—I can't endure it, I hate how much I want to, I hate this and I can't bear to leave you. I hate that that human could hold and kiss you if she wanted. And you burn me!" Crowley wrung her damaged hands as if trying to make them hurt even more. "I won't let her touch you, angel, I won't let her kiss you. I don't want you to want anyone but me. I want you to be _mine_."

"Crowley," said Aziraphale, confused and aghast and hurting, but the form in front of her was already melting back into snake form. Aziraphale dropped to the floor and opened her arms. "Oh, my Crowley." The snake wrapped around her and she clung to Crowley the same way Crowley clung to her, put her hands around the girth of the snake body, held her back in the only way she could. "I won't kiss her," Aziraphale promised breathlessly. ''I won't kiss anyone at all if I can't kiss you. Only you, Crowley. I'm only yours." She pressed her lips against the ebony head. "Aphrodite, hear my prayer, bless my beloved," she whispered, and at that moment she didn't care that she blasphemed. All she knew was that Crowley was in pain, and Aziraphale loved her, loved her beyond all reason.

> Glittering-Minded deathless Aphrodite,
> 
> I beg you, Zeus’s daughter, weaver of snares,
> 
> Don’t shatter my heart with fierce pain, goddess


	3. Possession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You may blame Aphrodite  
> Soft as she is,  
> She has almost killed me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the raised rating. :)

> every gesture is a proclamation,  
>  every sound is speech

It was some days before Crowley gathered herself again into her nymph form. Aziraphale was wracked with guilt. Was it because she had burned her slender fingers, because Aziraphale's words had hurt her? Had she burned out her power too quickly?

That was the most terrifying thing of all. If she could never again see Crowley's mobile, narrow face, her expressive hands, hear her voice. It was ridiculous, really. Aziraphale had spent thousands of years on this planet, and all the time she had to look at the dryad and talk with her added up to a handful of hours, if that. It made no sense to feel like her heart would break if she never heard or saw her again.

Besides, she _had_ Crowley. The snake never left her side, now. The weight draping around her felt like part of her. Taking Crowley off to bathe seemed like a loss, even though the snake curled up and glared menacingly at the giggling, half-scared slave girls as they poured water over Aziraphale and helped with her ablutions. 

"It's almost like she's jealous," Penelope said, combing out Aziraphale's pale locks.

Aziraphale, who had lived in many times and places when nudity was commonplace and never been conscious of modesty before, was flushing a little under the snake's scrutiny. She was aware of the roll of fat above her wide hips, the weight of her breasts and her large nipples, the overhang of her stomach and breadth of her thighs. She had never really cared if anyone thought her beautiful or not, taking pleasure in being soft and matronly instead, but now she wondered if a fleshy corporation was as much to the dryad's tastes as Crowley's lean, long-legged body was to hers. "Perhaps she is." 

Crowley hissed.

"I don't understand why it doesn't make you nervous, spending time being stared at by a monster like that." Penelope jumped as Crowley hissed again. "It's almost like she understands what I'm saying. It's uncanny, a creature like that appearing and attaching itself to you. Feels like a sign."

"Perhaps she was sent by Aphrodite, my dear," Aziraphale said, looking into Crowley's golden eyes and trying to wrap her mind what it would mean if her companion had been sent by a fallen Goddess. Every bit of sense in Aziraphale told her that the only logical, sensible, angelic thing to do was send Crowley away.

She reached out, and stroked the snake's head in silent reassurance. And avoided Sappho as much as possible. And so the days went on.

Aziraphale prayed frequently, and kept to her rooms except while recording songs or teaching Kleis. wished Aphrodite would answer her. Or, even more, the Almighty. But there was only silence from the other realms. She tried to fill it by chattering to Crowley, telling her all her memories, her missions, the places she had been. The Garden of Eden with those poor foolish humans and their inability to stay away from the Tree of Knowledge. Her heartbreak when Cain had killed his brother for the love of the third sister, and everything she had done to try to protect them anyway. The times she couldn't protect, the Flood, Sodom and Gomorrah. And other things. Foods, tastes, clothes, music, stories. These humans who suffered and betrayed each other but still loved and created.

"I do hope I'm not boring you," she said softly one night. "I wish you could reply."

"Not sure I have much to say, angel." Crowley stretched out up long legs she hadn't had a few moments before. She certainly felt no modesty at being naked. Her legs were open, fiery red hair curling up from the join between them. Aziraphale tried not to stare between them. "I'm the one who is at risk of boring you. Bloody great silent snake, hasn't been away from her grove until now. Can't even read. Didn't do anything much but tempt maidens who visited into debauchery. No, not with me," she added hastily, as Azirpahale flinched. "Never—never felt—not until. Nrgh. You." Warmth flooded Aziraphale. "Their young men and each other. You know Aphrodite, likes everyone to shag. My own existence is pretty boring."

"I could never be bored by you."

"You say that like you mean it." Crowley swallowed, her throat moving. "Why?"

Aziraphale looked at her, the sharp lines of her, the huge eyes. "Because you're you," she said simply.

Crowley made an inarticulate noise and reached out, her fingers brushing Aziraphale's dress, and yelped. "Should have known fabric wouldn't insulate from holiness. Fuck." She leaned her head against the cushions, bony and vulnerable and miserable. "If I could just _hold_ you, even if our skin can't touch."

"You hold me a lot, dear."

"'S'not the same. Besides, I'm one of Aphrodite's lot. _Eros_. It's all right when I'm a snake, it's enough to be close and listen to you talk, but like this, I don't want to just hold you, I want to kiss you and taste you and _have_ you." Aziraphale shivered and looked down. "Oh—no, bloody hell, angel, I don't want to offend you. I wouldn't make you, not if you didn't want to. It would be enough to just be around you and talk and hold your hand sometimes if you allowed it. Comb your hair."

Sometimes Aziraphale could be brave. "I want you, too, in every way."

"Oh, _angel,_ " Crowley choked. "I love you so fucking much. I've never been in love before, but you—you—you—"

The words were like fire in Aziraphale's veins. She knew Crowley wanted her, enjoyed her company, was possessive of her, she'd made that clear enough, but _love_... 

"I love you, too. So much." 

Crowley made a choking noise, but they didn't reach for each other, not until Crowley faded back into a serpent and looped around her.

* * *

> You may blame Aphrodite  
>  Soft as she is,  
>  She has almost killed me 

So Aziraphale wanted. She had admitted it aloud. Not just love, but wanting. She wanted to caress Crowley's thin flanks and the slight curve of her breasts, learn the texture of her hints of scales, taste her mouth and her skin, hold her close. She wanted to let the fire burn and love her in the most physical ways, listen to the pull in her belly and the ache between her legs, see Crowley consumed with pleasure. _Eros_. Aziraphale had never felt carnal desire, not even once, and then Aphrodite had sent Crowley to her. And both Aphrodite and Crowley were the Enemy. Fallen angels were not necessarily evil, although Aziraphale had heard enough of Aphrodite's capriciousness, vanity and cruelty to extend the label to her. But they did distract humans, turn them away from goodness, and they were the natural enemies of angels.

Aziraphale wanted Crowley. She wanted her very much, with a painful longing that flickered through her waking daydreams. And she couldn't have Crowley the way she wanted as long as she was an angel.

If she Fell for the sake of a dryad, Aphrodite would probably find that amusing indeed.

 _But it hurts Crowley too,_ she raged internally. _She's your nymph. What did she do to offend you so, that you would leave her lonely and loving and incapable of being touched, even her precious forest gone? Why curse her?_

_And you, my Almighty Mother, is my snake a temptation or a blessing? Tell me what to do._ No answer. Aziraphale had the wild thought of appealing to another authority, but she knew perfectly well Gabriel or anyone else would simply tell her to leave the snake alone, or even recall her to Heaven. She couldn't do it. She would rather live out the rest of her existence on this island, waiting for a few moments of talking with her beloved every few nights. 

"Why do you think Aphrodite cursed you? Was she jealous of Pan's attention to you?" she asked one sunny afternoon, resting in the shade of her room. 

Crowley lay beside Aziraphale, their hands two finger-widths apart, the nearest careful experimentation had let them be together without Crowley burning. A play-acting of hand-holding, with no touch, but the closeness soothed Aziraphale's harrowed soul. "Nah, couldn't be that. He comes drooling around Aphrodite sometimes, but she just hits him with her sandal until he goes away. You don't want to make Aphrodite jealous, she can be a real bitch, but s'not like she has to fear my spectacular good looks, skinny yellow-eyed thing like me."

"You're the most beautiful thing I ever saw," Aziraphale said, flexing her fingers with the need to hold Crowley's hand. "You will always be beautiful to me. I love your long legs and your lovely hair, your bones and your crooked nose and your mouth and your eyes. You make me want to be a poet myself. _Gracious your form and your eyes as honey: desire is poured upon your lovely face. Aphrodite has honoured you exceedingly_."

Crowley's face was as red as if it had been scalded. "Not honey eyes. Snake yellow."

"Golden as honey, as sunshine, as yellow roses."

"No one ever called me lovely before. Not even the children who sang me songs in my forest. Can't write poetry, and I don't like your poet human, but she sang _Some say an army of horsemen, or infantry, a fleet of ships is the fairest thing on the face of the black earth, but I say, it's what one loves._ ” Crowley sat up, her face eager and fierce. "And you do love me, my angel, you do. That's why you think I'm beautiful. You love me." Her voice broke. "You love me more than you love Sappho, or Alceus, or Penelope, or your strict wankers of angels. You love me best of _anyone_." Her voice raised its volume, so loud that Aziraphale feared to disturb the rest of the household. "You're mine. Tell me. I need to hear it."

She really was a scion of Aphrodite, jealous as her goddess. Aziraphale felt she should be afraid of that, afraid it was a trap, but all she felt was love and the overwhelming desire to reassure her. "I don't love anyone the way I love you, my Crowley."

"You love me more than your Almighty," Crowley said. "You belong to me, not Her."

And there it was. The trap. Aziraphale's mouth moved, but there were no words, she didn't even know the words to form. Crowley was there, needing her, and Aziraphale loved her so much, but to put someone else before the Almighty... Aziraphale cursed Aphrodite, cursed her bitterly. Mischievous, cruel goddess of love, with her terrible games.

Crowley gave a hiss of anguish and fell back on the cushions. "If I could just _touch_ you. I'd make you forget everything, make you mine. You wouldn't think of anyone or anything but me."

"Darling," Aziraphale said, helplessly. "Please don't hurt us like this."

''How could you truly love a _snake_?"

"I do love you. But you go so fast..."

"How old is Kleis?"

"Eighteen summers. I suppose she will be marrying soon."

Crowley laughed, a mirthless bitter bark like her stone forest. "How old was she when you brought me back? A little girl learning her stories. Sappho's hair is showing signs of white, angel mine. Erinna has a brace of brats. No one here shows the genius of your lady poet. When she grows infirm and dies, your task will be done, and you'll leave this island and do your angelic good works elsewhere, like a good little Principality. I'm just lucky you found me after Sappho returned from exile, or you wouldn't have left me to go with her."

"But you'll come with me, of course." Leaving her behind was unthinkable. Aziraphale needed the cool muscular weight of her over her shoulders or in her lap, needed these precious talks.

" _I can't leave the island of my forest._ "

"I'll come back. I'll come back whenever I can. Crowley..." 

There were no answer but dry sobs that faded into hissing. The great snake slid around Aziraphale and flicked a tongue at the tears on her face, as if begging forgiveness, and Aziraphale stroked her, kissed the giant head.

Aziraphale felt like she was the one who was unforgivable. Cast into Tartarus for her sins. And she still wasn't sure what her sin was.

The next time Crowley took her dryad form, nearly a week later, she didn't mention her quarrel. She gulped down Aziraphale's wine and made jokes and told rude stories of what her fellow nymph Eurydice got up to and how desperate she was to evade being dragged back to the world of the living. Aziraphale laughed, but also worried about a hidden meanings. Crowley was intelligent and sly, for all she disavowed education.

"Am I going to be stuck with a _drunk snake_?" Aziraphale demanded.

"Never been drunk as a snake. Hey, that's an idea. You should let me drink your wine when I'm all snakey."

"I'm sure it wouldn't agree with you," Aziraphale said firmly, and looked into the laughing face of her beloved, knowing she was forgiven. She just couldn't quite forgive herself. 

"Courage of drink," Crowley said. "Ever met Silenus? One of our lot. Horsey bloke. Not a centaur, just horse bits."

"Most of your kind are as not friendly with angels as you are, dear."

"Haven't met the right angel," Crowley said, scowling, and Aziraphale's heart turned over. "Anyway, he married Hermaphroditus, right? Comes with them to visit their mum sometimes. You'd like Silenus. Clever thing, likes tutoring. Likes his cups. You'd get along."

"Is this going anywhere?" Aziraphale asked, amused. "I'm not trading you in for a satyr or "horsey bloke" or whatever he is, if that's your worry." 

Crowley gave her an inebriated and besotted look. "Not my point. My point was... my point was that he's clever."

"So you said."

"And he says there's courage in wine. He'd know, he's never sober. Lie down."

"What?"

"Lie down," Crowley said, more gently. Aziraphale did, startled, and Crowley moved over her on hands and knees, sprawled carefully so as not to touch. Aziraphale thought dizzily that it was lucky the dryad's limbs were so long.

"Do be careful."

"I will, don't worry. But I'd burn for you if I needed to."

"Don't burn yourself. Please don't hurt yourself." Aziraphale was agitated, but her fear of hurting Crowley kept her still. She was aware of desire curling warm in her belly, as if it was the serpent herself, unfurling and sending tingles sharp where she longed for pressure, breath rasping as her chest rose and fell.

"Then hold very still." Crowley's eyes were half-lidded, her lips parted and her breath sweet with wine, and for a moment Aziraphale was afraid she really was going to kiss her, scald her lips to blisters. Instead, Crowley's lips moved softly in the air about her, shaping soft kisses that never met, the tip of her tongue touching her own lips so gently Aziraphale couldn't tell if it was forked. The thought sent a shock of wanting through her. "I'll be careful, I swear. I won't touch. Is this—is this all right? I hoarded my magic and my courage to have more time with you. I'll stop if you want. Any time you want, just say, yeah?"

"Keep going." Aziraphale was very quiet, but Crowley's colour heightened.

"Angel. My gorgeous, beloved angel. I would kiss you if I could, kiss you so deeply." Crowley's lips moved above her own, a ghost of a kiss, too far away. "Kiss you until you never wanted to kiss anyone else ever again."

"I never _did_."

"Kiss your soft neck _Bite_ it." Aziraphale felt a startle move through, thinking of serpent teeth, half scared and half aroused. "No, no, not to injure you, my sweetheart. Just to mark you. So they know you're mine and not to _touch._ "

"I think they already do," Aziraphale said. It had been a while since any of the cult of Aphrodite and Eros approached her with amorous intent. Something about the black snake she wore put them off.

"So long as you know," Crowley hissed. "I'm possessive, you know."

"I might have noticed."

"Bare your breasts."

Aziraphale obeyed, moving carefully to avoid the brush of skin. The Greeks didn't think there was anything particularly erotic about breasts, they associated them with children Aziraphale would never bear, but the hungry gaze Crowley fixed on her reminded her of other times and places. "My _gorgeous_ angel." Crowley's tongue flickered on her lips again, and then shot out, tasting the air, and it was forked, like a snake's tongue, and it was tasting...

Aziraphale realised dizzily that Crowley could smell her arousal.

"Fuck. You really are mine. My angel." Crowley rocked back suddenly, flung herself on her back, safely away, hand in the cleft between her own thighs, rubbing. "Is this all right? Tell me this is all right."

"I love you," Aziraphale said, reaching under her own robes, and Crowley sobbed. At least she could give the dryad this, if they never could touch, could let her see how much she wanted. The wetness and shudders were new to her, and the tears, and tiny trembles afterwards, as Crowley cried out and let her magic fade.

"I love you," Aziraphale said again, and the snake slid and curled up on her, possessive.

* * *

> You may forget but  
>  let me tell you this:   
>  someone in some future time will think of us

Aziraphale stood and held Sappho's frail hand in the place of a spouse as she died, Kleis by her side. 

"My darling daughter, my life, my meaning. And my gentle-hearted Aziraphale. I loved you as a sister," Sappho said, her voice painful between dry lips. "I would have loved you better if I could, but Aphrodite or Artemis held you from me. Ageless creature, dear friend, tell me your secret before you die? Are you a muse, or a nymph? Does your serpent grant you immortal life?"

"I am a messenger of Almighty Love," Aziraphale said softly. "And I love you too, fiery and clever Sappho, so full of love for life and words and for others." For once, Crowley, coiled in a corner, did not hiss or attempt to get between them. "I will make sure your words live forever. Go now into Love."

"I love you too, Mama," Kleis said, smiling through her tears. "You will not be forgotten. Trust us."

Sappho passed gently enough. Aziraphale could grant her that much, with a small blessing holding the pain away, in gratitude for the happy years spent on this hot island, surrounded by music and poetry and good food and love. So, too, could she help Kleis wash and prepare Sappho's body for her funeral, less for the sake of honouring the shell that had been Sappho as to comfort her child. Kleis's belly was already heavy with child, and the cycle would go on. Darling humans, coming and going to this earth. Only the immortals remained on this plane.

Aziraphale could feel the Grace in her room before she returned there, and so could Crowley, hissing and rearing. "Dear heart, stay. You can't let them see you," Aziraphale said. Her first thought, selfish, guilty, was _or I will Fall,_ but second and stronger by far was, _If they think you have tempted me to Fall, they will smite you._

Crowley slid away, fear and anger loud in the long slither of her body, and Aziraphale went to receive her new orders.

She came back with a shiny commendation in her hands. Preserving the power of the Almighty's love in the form of human genius. Crowley didn't raise her head.

"I'm to go to Priene," Aziraphale said, without trying to soften it by dithering. She had just dithered enough to Uriel and Michael. Her hands hurt from wringing, her tongue from unspoken words. "Because of my success here, I'm to make sure the sage Bias's wisdom isn't lost. There's no way humanity can survive without aphorisms like _Most people are wicked_ and _do not speak fast._ I'll come back, Crowley. I swear it. As soon as I can."

"Stay." Crowley's form changed, but not her posture. Her head buried in her knees, face invisible. "Choose me."

"I _can't_. They'll work out why I disobeyed my orders. They will destroy you, dear heart."

"If I looked like Aphrodite, if I could touch you, I'd make you stay."

"Don't be so foolish. Do I look like Aphrodite? Can I touch you? Are you going to go seduce some pretty nymph instead of loving me?"

"Perhaps I shall!" Crowley's head was raised and she was shouting. "There are plenty of others willing to love me, worship me, even. I shouldn't be wasting my time on an angel who can do nothing for me but feed me snacks and read me bloody _poetry_."

"Perhaps you should."

Crowley looked like Aziraphale had struck her, but the angel was smarting from her own wounds. The dryad was black and red again and out the window into the heat of the day before Aziraphale could repent.

 _It's for the best,_ she told herself as she crumpled on the couch and sobbed. _It's for the best_ , as she delayed as long as she dared before taking a boat, as the hot tears dripped off her face as she kissed Kleis and Alceus, Erinna and the children goodbye. Penelope had asked to go with her and Kleis had allowed it, a boon to Aziraphale from her former student. _It was killing us both. It's for the best._

She stared at the rocks on the beach as the boat pulled out, hoping to see some kind of movement, something to indicate a snake hiding, a thin red-headed dryad watching her leave. Hoping or fearing, fearing that she would lose all senses, plunge from the boat and snatch Crowley up in her arms, disregarding her pain. Destroy them both in the fire of love.

"I love you," she mouthed to the sea air, to wonderful Lesbos and its cults of love and passion, to her serpent. "I'll hold you in my heart always. Aphrodite, be good to them all. Please be especially good to _her_."

The boat moved into the sea, dazzling with light off the water, and Lesbos became a shadow on the sea, became lost. And then a whisper carried to her. One last compassion of Aphrodite, perhaps, or of the Almighty. Did it even matter which? "It's all right, angel. You can't do the wrong thing, no matter how much I want you to. I won't ever forget you. Don't forget me. I love you."

Aziraphale kissed her fingers, threw the kiss to the horizon. She was an angel. Time to act like one and devote herself to duty.

"Are you all right?" Penelope asked as she turned away.

She couldn't answer.

> I said: 'Go with my blessing if you go  
>  Always remembering what we did. To me  
>  You have meant everything, as you well know.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter to go, and for once a story is perfectly fitting the number of chapters I have planned. I swear there will be a happy ending for these cursed lovers.


	4. Soon She Shall Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aphrodite makes her appearance at last, and Aziraphale and Crowley face a choice.

_and she_

_has reminded me_ _now_

_of Anactoria_

_who is not here;_

_I would rather see her_

_lovely walk and the bright sparkle of her_ _face_

 _than the Lydians’ chariots and armed_ _infantry …_

The years had seemed to move more and more quickly the longer Aziraphale was in the world. A mathematician in Persia had explained to her once why humans felt time sped up as they got older, that for a small child a year was a fifth of their lifespan, while at fifty it was only a fiftieth. How much more so for the immortals as the centuries flew by? She kept track of them by mortal lives.

After leaving Lesbos, time stretched endlessly and seemed to fly by at the same time. Was Crowley waiting? How long did it seem to her? As Aziraphale met and worked with philosophers and actors and musicians, as she sampled a thousand delicious foods and heard music, she thought of Crowley, alone in her stone forest where not even pilgrims came any longer, and her heart ached. She was conscious of anger, too. A bright fiery thing like Crowley, trapped in a narrow world without interest or affection. It was cruel.

Perhaps she shouldn't have fallen. But an eternity alone, for someone with an eager loving heart and craving for novelty, was too harsh by far. Aziraphale didn't know whether to blame Heaven or Aphrodite, but she knew it was all wrong.

She tried to find reasons to go back, without being too eager, without raising any suspicions. The Greek city states were busy and complicated, and mission after mission was followed by commendation after commendation. Penelope, rewarded freely and allowed to sell her own embroidery, bought her freedom soon enough but stayed as a freedwoman. Only as the end of her life drew near did she decide to return to Lesbos to live out her sunset.

Trying to keep her desperate hope hidden, Aziraphale put her case to Gabriel that she should return with her former handmaiden and see her safely home.

"She's not important," Gabriel said, clapping her hands together impatiently. "You're a Principality, not a guardian angel. Your job is to work with the humans who change the destiny of nations. Slaves and freedwoman's souls matter as much as anyone else's, of course," she added hastily, "but otherwise they are quite unimportant. You have other fish to fry."

Bristling at the _unimportant_ , Aziraphale weighed Penelope down with gifts for herself and for her friends, and one request. "If you love me at all, my dear old friend, go to the petrified forest, and sing there for the dryad that lives there. Bring her flowers, and fresh eggs, and news. Let her know my heart lies on the island soon and I will return."

"I hope Aphrodite will bless you and let you come soon. You will always be welcome in Mytilene, my mistress. My voice is cracked and old, ageless one, but I will sing out of love for you. What would you like me to sing?"

"Sing her Sappho's song about Helen and Anactoria."

Would Crowley understand her choice? If Penelope spoke of Aziraphale and sang of Helen, who left and betrayed everything for love, would she know how close Aziraphale was coming to risking everything, giving up Heaven, fleeing to be with her? It wouldn't work, she knew that. She was no Archangel or Cherub. If she fell, she had no idea what she would become. Most of the gods and nymphs and monsters were almost powerless, tied to a time and place. She might find herself cursed to a lake or mountain far from Crowley, or deep in the Underworld, with no hope of finding her. Stupid, useless, to find herself dreaming of doing so often, casting everything away for the chance of beholding her for one moment, of saying _I choose you at last, darling._

Better to be patient, wait, return when she could. Be cautious. Wise.

Her heart rebelled at the thought of wisdom.

> _It is perfectly easy to make this_
> 
> _understood by everyone: for she who far_
> 
> _surpassed mankind in beauty,_
> 
> _Helen, left her most noble husband_
> 
> _and went sailing off to Troy with no thought at all_
> 
> _for her child or dear parents,_
> 
> _But love led her astray_ _lightly …_

Aziraphale's new maid Diônaia was a lovely thing, with a swaying walk and golden curls that shone in the sunlight, another Aphrodite cultist. She did very little work, but brightened the place with her youth, her singing and her gossip. Aziraphale wondered if it was her fate, that she would never escape the goddess of Sappho. It made her happy and hurt her all at once, Diônaia's merriness and affairs reminding her of Myteline, of her companion. As if she could forget Crowley. Every flash of reddish hair in a marketplace, every slither of a snake in the heat, every bitter salt tang of olive set her pulse flaring, her heat rising, her eyes aching. _I will never forget you, my love. I will return._

Sometimes, alone, she thought of Crowley's heated yellow eyes, her slim naked body, and Aziraphale ached, a pain at one particular point deep inside, another point throbbing with sharp pleasure, and her hands rubbed and pushed and chased something she never quite reached. She was left nauseous and unsated, breath rasping, weeping and lonelier than before, waving away the uncomfortable wetness with a miracle. _Kiss me, kiss me_ , she thought, which was ridiculous, as Crowley never could kiss her, she had no memories of kisses. Just the flicker of a snake's tongue against her hand or cheek.

Once she turned from her fruitless attempts at relief, and Diônaia was sitting in the corner of the room. "You're not really getting anywhere with that," the slave said bluntly, with no hints of embarrassment.

Aziraphale flushed with shame at touching herself, at being caught, at being inept enough not to even bring herself to completion. But Diônaia just dimpled at her, gold curls falling around her face. "I could help you, if you like," she offered. "You have no idea how skilled in the arts of love I am."

"My dear, I couldn't possibly ask—"

"I want to," Diônaia said. "Or don't you think I'm pretty enough?" She stood, her gown barely cloaking her high round breasts, her tiny waist and graceful hips, the gold curls falling down apple blossom shoulders, and all Aziraphale could think of was a thin bony thin with scales and a hard, snake-eyed face.

"You are very lovely, my dear, but no," Aziraphale said, without regret.

"A youth, then? Or a man? You can't pretend too much dedication to Artemis. I know you too well," Diônaia pouted. "You are not the religious type." Aziraphale smiled a little at the irony. "You should not be alone and frustrated. You copy down love poems and sigh over them, but you are alone. Why have you no husband or lover?"

Aziraphale was suddenly tired of lying. "I love someone, and I will return to her. Even if she can never be my lover, I could never want anyone else. She is my dear friend and beloved."

Diônaia laughed. "Do you know how often I have been consumed with obsession with some pretty youth or warrior, or some graceful nymph? I have fought endless ages with my sisters over them and soaked the ground with human blood. Yet always, my heart changes, and in between, I have my husband. Can you not think of your dryad that way, ageless enemy?" She was very beautiful, very beautiful indeed, and her hair shone like living gold. Aziraphale felt foolish, and angry. She should feel frightened, she supposed, this was no minor spirit, but there was rage.

"Why did you curse her? She called to you for help."

"She didn't really believe in my help. She never worshipped me properly. I have no idea why she was given to me in the first place; she had no heart for love. I thought I would show her what it was like to live without a goddess's favour. But then..." Aphrodite shrugged her graceful shoulders. "You came, and she fell in love with you."

"You thought it was funny to make her fall in love with an angel?" Aziraphale was sick at heart, only her anger bearing her up.

"Oh, no, she managed that herself. Or you did. I had really thought she was beyond hope." Aphrodite smiled. "You are a curious angel. I suppose I couldn't convince you to worship me?"

For a moment, Aziraphale felt the temptation blossom in her heart. To fall and be stripped of holiness, so she no longer had to answer to heaven, so her skin would no longer burn Crowley, that was a shining hope. But then she thought of Crowley, running in fear, crying out for help, and this capricious creature cursing her instead. "No, thank you," she said politely.

"Oh, well. It was worth a shot. Your Penelope sent you a letter, you know. Kleis's grandson scribed it himself. You leave many traces of love in your path, Aziraphale. You're wasted with these cold angels."

Aziraphale reached out and took the scroll, her hands trembling, reading it over and over to be sure. _I went to the forest, and the stone tress were green and living. I sang Sappho's song as you bid, and the dryad herself came out, and bid me send you a message: *why have you abandoned me?_

She lifted tearful eyes to Aphrodite, who giggled. "Maybe I'm capricious, but I have a softness for lovers. It's not going to be as easy as all that, for either of you," she added warningly. "I always take my due in sacrifices."

"What do I have to do? But Gabriel, Michael—"

"There is always a way. The archangels are not different to us, really. They like their sacrifices."

Aziraphale's stomach constricted with fear, looking into the liquid shining eyes of this immortal girl. But she remembered a broken voice pleading, _Choose me_ , and...

She chose.

> _Like a sweet-apple turning red_
> 
> _high on the tip of the topmost branch._
> 
> _Forgotten by pickers._
> 
> _Not forgotten—_
> 
> _they couldn’t reach it._

Aziraphale left her companions an hour's walk away from the mountain forest, carrying a vase full of silver as a sacrifice for the dryad. It amused her a little; what would Crowley, in her forest, do with silver? The arrangements between fallen angels and humans made little sense, but she supposed the point was the sacrifice. Silver had meant nothing to her or to Crowley in Sappho's household regardless, let alone in a forest. It was the form of the thing.

She carried fresh eggs in the folds of her robe.

The sky was a deep blue, and the sun blazed down on her, made her curls cling in damp ringlets, sweat sticking her robes to the small of her back, making her thighs rub uncomfortably, trickle down beneath her breasts. The sea breeze was her only relief, and the sight of the forest in front of her, magical in the different kinds of trees, massive conifers and trees laden with fruit, rhododendrons blazing with flowers, regardless of the seasons. Birds fluttered and sang in the trees. _Well done, Crowley_ , she found herself whispering, and wanted to cry.

The fountain was only a little way inside. Aziraphale kneeled down and carefully poured the silver into the water, set the eggs by it. "Dryad of the forest, nymph of Aphrodite, come to me."

She knelt there in the coolness, perspiration drying on her skin, her heart thudding, until her pulse began to thrum, a shivering driving through her, as if she had drunk too deeply of wine. Nympholepsy, the power of nymphs to bewitch and madden. She had never felt it before, either because Crowley had been too lacking in power with her forest turned to stone, because the dryad had stayed her hand, or because... She didn't want to think of that.

She lifted her gaze, and saw a thin figure silhouetted at the edge of the grove, as her feelings cleared.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley's expression was blank, her yellow eyes huge. How ungainly she was, and how beautiful to Aziraphale's eyes. Every bone showing in her ribcage, the long thin legs, the blazing hair, all felt like they were written on Aziraphale's heart. She had kept the tracings of scales, the sharp teeth. "I didn't think you were coming back." Her voice was dull, as if she wasn't sure how to react.

"I'm back, beloved, if you want me," Aziraphale said, leaving everything else left unsaid. She arched her neck instinctively, the mammal act of baring herself to attack. _I trust you, do what you will with me._

"Of course I bloody want you." Crowley was across the grove like a flash, arms held out and then, remembering, dropping them down. She shifted impatiently from bare foot to bare foot, as is that was all that could keep her from flinging herself into Aziraphale's arms and burning there, then sighed and slipped into snake form, curling up and around Aziraphale, accepting kisses on her head and scales and flickering her tongue against her face in return. Aziraphale wept, and hardly knew why, except that it was all too much to be there and touching her again.

Crowley slid loose eventually. It ached to let her go, but then she was standing before Aziraphale, grinning like an idiot, face split with pure happiness. Aziraphale had never seen her like that, blazing with happiness and pride. "Tell me you love me back."

"I love you," Aziraphale said obediently, and with all her heart.

Crowley hissed, as if it was too much for words. "Come—come see my forest."

Aziraphale found herself half laughing and half weeping at Crowley's restlessness, the way the dryad would sway forward a few steps in her eagerness and then slip back as if afraid of getting too far away, circling around her as if afraid she would escape. _I'm here, darling, I'm here,_ she wanted to reassure, as she obediently tasted fruit and wove flowers in her hair and listened to the names of the trees and was so torn between happiness and grief, hope and fear that she didn't know what to do.

Crowley loved her forest. Her love for it shone brightly as the stars. But then, she was a dryad. On many levels she _was_ her forest.

"I knew you'd love the pomegranates, angel," she said happily. "I've been making sure they grow red and sweet and sour for you— _what is that? I told you to keep the insects out, you uselessssss weed!_ " She stopped hissing at a tree and shrugged, embarrassed. "Gotta keep discipline, or there won't be enough fruit for you. Do you know how often I have imagined the juice running down your chin like that?" Aziraphale guiltily wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Oh, I've _missed_ you, sweet angel. Did you miss me?"

"Every day and every night."

"I keep forgetting that I don't need to rush to talk to you. I can keep this form as long as you want to talk, in this forest. Guess that bitch Aphrodite has a soft spot after all."

"They say she does, for lovers," Aziraphale agreed, taking a seat on a moss-covered rock. She cast off her sandals and dipped her aching feet in the cold stream.

Crowley came to sit beside her, careful not to touch. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong? You're afraid of telling me you can't be with me long, are you?" The light had faded from her face, and she stared furiously at her scale-traced feet, as if trying to set them on fire through aggression alone. "It's all right. S'long as you always come back."

"I can be with you as long as we choose. We can truly be together. Lovers and spouses."

" _What_?" Crowley's head whipped around like a striking snake. "Aziraphale, what—why— Why don't you look happier?"

Aziraphale put back her shoulders, made the gesture that would bring her wings bursting from them, her halo shining bright. Nothing. She clicked her fingers. Still nothing. No magic.

"You're mortal?" Crowley reached out a shaking hand, then snatched it back. "No, you're still holy. I can feel it. Burn me to cinders, you could. But—"

"I'm still an angel. Just without powers. After all, my powers are in the service of my work. And I chose. It's been thousands of years of service, and I _chose._ Aphrodite demanded a sacrifice."

"Angel." Crowley's eyes filled with tears. "You chose this? And you regret it?"

"The choice has to be both of ours," Aziraphale said. "By sunset tonight, I can stay powerless, or I can regain my powers and go back to service."

"You're putting the choice on me," Crowley said harshly. "So I will carry the guilt and forever be the reason you lost everything."

"And gained it," Aziraphale said fiercely. "No reason for guilt. I choose you freely. But it's not just me, dear, don't you see? My side demand the balance be kept."

"My forest." The words fell to the ground like pebbles.

"Yes." No sense softening it.

Crowley pulled her knees in towards her. "It will die again. Be stone."

"You can keep it alive, darling."

"And if I do, you'll regain your powers and have to go."

Aziraphale licked her lips, tried to keep her voice steady and not croaking. "Yes. I'll come back, whenever I can. I promise."

Crowley sprawled on her back, looked at the triangles of blue through the dancing leaves."Will I be able to leave here? After the trees die?"

"Yes, darling. We can go wherever you like."

Crowley climbed to her feet. "Well, then. Will you walk with me? Until sunset. I need to say goodbye, and beg their forgiveness."

"Crowley, you have some time to decide."

"There's no decision to make. Come, there's some apples I want you to taste. Before. I always wanted to give you apples."

The wonder of it was that Crowley managed to smile as she kept showing Aziraphale her treasures, her plants and towering trees. Aziraphale ate fruit until her mouth was stained and her belly ached, as they made their way up the mountain, to the very top. The sun was sinking under the horizon, and they sat, side by side, angel and nymph, until the very last yellow glow dipped under the horizon and the stars came out.

The leaves went first, and then the branches, and it seemed to take forever and only a few seconds at the same time, the birds fluttering away from the dead stone trees. Aziraphale reached up and brushed dust, that had been flowers, from her hair.

"Crowley," she said, choked with tears, but then her arms were full of Crowley and her lips were being claimed for the first time and _Crowley, Crowley_ , the dryad was soft and hard at the same time, wrapped around her, fierce and sweet and tender. How had her skin survived for so many years without skin and heat against it? How had she survived without feeling a living body against her, arms around her, as if trying so hard to be close as to push under her skin?

Then there was only kissing and touching and _oh_ , so that was what that felt like, sharp shudders going through her, her own finger wrapped in wetness and muscle as a thin thigh pressed between hers and it was sharp like a knife and so gentle at the same time. Nympholepsy, she thought confusedly, or the passion of Aphrodite, or just... Crowley.

"Angel, angel." Crowley rained kisses and tears on her neck, on her breasts, pulled on her nipples with small sharp teeth. "Could touch you forever, never letting you go, never ever..."

"We can stay as long as you like, darling." She pulled Crowley back up, kissed her deeply and sweetly, tasting her tongue, feeling like she was pouring her soul into her. Strong thin thighs curving around her plump hips, Aziraphale's belly pressing against her as if this was what it were created to do, this was why it was round and abundant, to be a safe soft place to come for this fragile bony creature. "And then I'll show you the _world._ The world is so beautiful, darling, and you're the most beautiful thing in it."

"You're much prettier," insisted a happy, fierce voice smothered against her lips. "All soft and — oh, angel. Love you."

"I love you too. I choose you," said Aziraphale, and imagined to herself that, somewhere, Sappho smiled.

> _Some say an army of horsemen,_
> 
> _some of foot-soldiers, some of ships,_
> 
> _is the fairest thing on the black earth,_
> 
> _but I say it is what one loves._

**Author's Note:**

> All quotes and titles are from fragments of Sappho's poetry, using the translations by A. S. Kline on [Poetry on the Web.](https://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Greek/Sappho.php)
> 
> It seems fitting that my 100th fic is both _Good Omens_ and femslash, my two favourite things. Thank you to Ale for asking for Wives on Lesbos, and I hope this makes you at least partly as happy to read as it makes me to write.
> 
> Comments and kudos are loved like treasure.


End file.
